


Baked Bads

by codswallop



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Baking, Kissing, M/M, No Spoilers, slight feeding kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway is a terrible baker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baked Bads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emungere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/gifts).



James Hathaway: clever as they come (obviously), more than passable musician (so far as Lewis could judge), shyly amazing at kissing, and...so forth (no comment), not at all a bad cook (if you didn’t mind the odd experimental spice).

Rubbish at baking, however. Charred biscuits, leaden scones, raw-in-the-center brownies, an assortment of dry and tasteless breads and muffins. Hathaway brought them to the office and left them thoughtfully in the break area for public consumption, where they sat mostly untouched until someone cleared them into the bin at the end of the week. It got to be a running joke amongst the constables, but Lewis didn’t join in with their laughter, in case James’s feelings might be hurt. He wondered, though, why Hathaway continued to pursue this odd hobby.

“It relaxes me,” Hathaway said, watching Lewis chew (and chew, and chew) on an apple-rhubarb muffin that tasted alarmingly metallic and ashy at the same time. “Baking,” he clarified, to Lewis’s raised eyebrows of inquiry. “It’s oddly soothing. You don’t have to eat it. I won’t mind.”

“No, it’s not bad,” Lewis insisted valiantly, around a mouthful that seemed to be mostly baking soda and salt. He liked a good muffin as well as anyone, but this was torture; this was a mockery and an affront to muffins everywhere. “Really interesting flavour. Are there any left? I’ll take the rest home if there are.”

James looked ridiculously pleased and said he thought there were a few, he’d just go and wrap them up, and Lewis waited until he’d left the room before spitting his mouthful into a napkin. Thank Christ he’d thought to ask--if anyone else tasted these, they’d never let up with the ribbing.

Unfortunately, Hathaway seemed so cheered by the encouragement that he redoubled his efforts. He invited Lewis over for dinner the next weekend--“proper dinner, not one of my usual one-pot wonders”--and Lewis accepted, of course, but made a point of mentioning that he’d been trying to reduce lately.

It was no use, though. Hathaway answered the door with an apron tied over his usual weekend jeans and t-shirt, with a smudge of flour on the end of his nose and another on his jaw. He accepted the bouquet of tulips Lewis had brought over with a sardonic twist of a smile and a slight bow, then handed them back to him at once. 

“Can you find something to put these in, actually? I’ve got to get back to my souffle--I’m determined not to overcook it this time--”

Oh, lord, the souffle had been the worst of all, Lewis thought in a panic. Charred on the outside, slimy on the inside, and studded with a minefield of bitter lumps in every bite. And there’d be no way to dispose of most of it on the sly, as he had at the office.... Perhaps there’d be a murder, he thought desperately, glancing at his mobile in sudden hope. Perhaps he could phone Innocent from the toilet and beg her to call them in on an urgent-- No, no, ridiculous. And totally unnecessary, he realised suddenly.

“Come here for a moment, first,” he told James, who turned back obediently, quizzically, and then smiled when Lewis beckoned him closer for a kiss. “You’ve something on your nose,” Lewis said, licking playfully at the flour. “And here as well,” he murmured, mouthing James’s jaw.

“Mmm,” James said as Lewis backed him up against the wall, sounding surprised but appreciative. “Anywhere else?”

“Now you mention it, I’m not sure.” Lewis slid his hands around Hathaway’s long back and untied the apron as he kissed him again, and again. “Better get this off you so I can see. And a few of these other things you’ve got on, too, perhaps? Might as well be thorough.”

The tulips dropped to the ground a moment later, forgotten.

*

Eventually, the smoke alarm went off. Hathaway leapt up from the scatter of flower petals and discarded clothing they were lying in, hopping awkwardly back into his pants as he ran to turn it off. Lewis lay back and admired the view, entirely pleased with himself. He did feel a slight pang of contrition, though, at the crestfallen expression on James’s face as he came back in bearing the blackened, fallen souffle between a pair of oven gloves. Perhaps it would have turned out edible this time--who knew?

“I’m awfully sorry,” Lewis told him, and meant it, at the moment. “I know how you love to bake.”

“I’m rotten at it,” Hathaway said mournfully. “Tell the truth. And it’s not relaxing; it’s dull. I get distracted, or experiment with the recipe, and it all goes to hell. Every time.”

“Following directions was never your strong suit,” Lewis agreed. “Why bother, then? You don’t even eat the stuff.”

“Well,” said Hathaway, disposing of the souffle pan and shedding his oven gloves before dropping down on the floor by Lewis’s side again. “ _You_ like it.”

“Ah,” Lewis said. “Well. I certainly don’t need it, though!” he added, looking mournfully down at the softness of his belly next to Hathaway’s lean and angled length.

“I beg to differ, sir,” James said, leaning over give his stomach a meditative kiss, nuzzling at the hollow of his navel and giving him a gentle bite, and as many times as Lewis had told him not to call him _sir_ when they were alone like this, he couldn’t seem to find the words to object.


End file.
